


if that serves you best

by iamnassau



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Scent Kink, Service Kink, also arguably, barely there but slight, one and a half bath scenes, who's the dom and who's the sub? it's a mystery to me too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23085037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnassau/pseuds/iamnassau
Summary: Geralt was a bit in love with him. That was what confounded him most. He’d lied to himself about it (all of it) for long enough, but the truth was, he wanted Jaskier to look to him for help.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 38
Kudos: 501
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	if that serves you best

**Author's Note:**

> i said to myself "what if geralt was absolutely whipped and did whatever jaskier asked of him?" so this happened
> 
> hope y'all enjoy

Geralt surprised himself often. Sometimes it wasn’t anything genuinely surprising, like saving monsters rather than killing them, as he did it rather often. Perhaps he wasn’t accustomed to the appearance of sympathy, but he only pretended not to be capable of it. 

He could safely say that this dynamic was new for him. And it wasn’t as surprising as he might have wanted it to be.

Jaskier, the infuriating bard, had been traveling at his side once again in search of his next great ballad. He was predictably unhelpful during hunts and spent his time harassing Geralt with questions about himself. (“Don’t you have a hobby for when you aren’t witchering?” “No.” “What kind of sweets do you like?” “None.” “What’s your favorite holiday?” “I don’t celebrate.” Why he bothered answering eludes him even now.)

He was frankly useless as a travel companion. But not any more useless than any other human who might decide to follow him to the ends of the earth. It was actually somewhat touching. Geralt still ordered him away on a regular basis, just weakly and without conviction. He was glad that Jaskier had picked up on their non-verbal agreement. Geralt protected, Jaskier flattered, and nobody got hurt. For the most part.

Geralt was fighting a pack of ghouls on the outskirts of Zerrikanian territory, an easy enough payout, and there were half as many in the pack as the miller had warned him of. It began raining halfway through their walk to the location of the ghouls’ last sighting, but there was no turning back at that point. The earthy smell, along with Jaskier’s mumbled complaints, filled his senses almost to a point that he missed the looming cemetery gates where the miller’s wife reported seeing the monsters digging up graves for food.

They didn’t find any meat on the corpses, she said, so they ate the family dog when it wandered in one night. 

It was simple enough to find them, even in the night fog, as they hadn’t yet moved on to a new source of nourishment. The ghouls slobbered and swiped at him, but they fell to his silver blade all the same. Jaskier must have perched by a tree to watch from afar in a spot less vulnerable to the rain- although his vision would not allow much in the way of song material- waiting for Geralt to finish up.

But as soon as the last few beasts approached to try and sink their teeth into his armor, he sensed movement behind him, then a shout. He stepped back, fending off the ghouls with his sword, and found that Jaskier had been knocked into the mud by a stray ghoul that must have escaped his notice with all of the stimuli around him.

“Hold on,” he called out as Jaskier rolled and squirmed beneath it. The others were quick work, and he rushed to finish off the one snapping at Jaskier as he (quite admirably) held it away, stabbing with his boot dagger at random. Unfortunately, the dagger was steel, and when it got close enough, the ghoul was able to wrap its teeth around his wrist. Jaskier yelped in pain, losing his grip on the dagger as he fought. 

Just then, Geralt beheaded it with a swift motion, and it dropped limp beside the man. Actually seeing it now, the ghoul must have been weak with hunger, allowing Jaskier to get away relatively unharmed.

Finally the bard spoke, still prone on the ground. “Oh, fuck. My hand!” It was certainly bloodied, and if they didn’t get to a shelter soon, it would make for a nasty infection. “Is this going to kill me?”

“No.” Geralt helped him to stand, and upon returning to Roach at the edge of the clearing, led them to a nearby inn. Jaskier made jokes the whole way, only hissing or sniffing quietly when he was jostled. He had to be in a decent amount of pain, and his clothes were soaked through by the downpour, but he didn’t gripe as Geralt would have expected. He just walked faster, worried that Jaskier was out of it.

As soon as they were out of the rain, Geralt sat him on the bed, cleaning and bandaging his hand and wrist. The bite was deep and bled heavily, but Jaskier bit down on any whimpers of pain. Geralt couldn’t stop thinking about how the bard hadn’t called for him, or made much noise at all as he was practically mauled. He felt… unsettled by it, really.

Jaskier looked up at him when he was finished, hair plastered to his forehead with rain. His chest heaved. “Do you think you could have them run me a bath?” Geralt had no reason to refuse him.

“Could you put the lavender salts in it?” His lavender salts were ruined by the damp, but Geralt didn’t tell him this. Instead, he bartered with the owner downstairs, who produced salts they usually reserved for reputable guests who paid extra, but since she was  _ so  _ generous and his friend was  _ so  _ pitiful, she would half the price.

Once Jaskier was settled in, and a storm began to rage outside, Geralt felt more at peace. Watching him luxuriate in the warm bath, carefully keeping his injured hand out, chest rising and falling with every breath- it was serene.

Geralt wanted to stick his nose into the crook of his neck, damp and warm, and smell the rain and the woods on him. That was not new. Geralt enjoyed being close to Jaskier. No matter how annoying he claimed it was, the bard’s tactile nature didn’t bother him. He was lithe and solid all at once, and his scent was never overwhelming. It also changed when he was pleased with his own joke.

Geralt was a bit in love with him. That was what confounded him most. He’d lied to himself about it (all of it) for long enough, but the truth was, he wanted Jaskier to look to him for help.

“Would you wash my hair?” He fought to hesitate before nodding, not to jump up from the bed immediately. But he was still quick in his agreement, which had Jaskier’s brows knitting together in confusion. He only felt a twinge of guilt about the previously-unreciprocated relationship they had. He’d convinced himself that protecting Jaskier and saving his life were more than good enough, but the truth was, he knew that true reciprocity would be to do what Jaskier did for him, or at least something equivalent. Of course the bard valued his life and was grateful for being saved, but Jaskier’s presence was always so  _ tangible _ . Geralt couldn’t manage that so easily.

That night, he was determined to try. He approached the tub hesitantly, and with some cringing, got on his knees. Jaskier hummed absently and passed him the bar of soap, Geralt’s fingertips becoming wet where their hands touched. His hair was already soaked enough that Geralt could just rub the soap between his hands and start untangling and washing. He wasn’t sure what to say, didn’t want to say anything in the first place.

Luckily, Jaskier seemed to share his desire for peace and quiet. Sounds of rain and thunder beat against the windows, along with a faint chatter from the tavern downstairs. Jaskier’s head dropped as if he was falling asleep.

But Geralt had no choice but to ruin the moment. “Could you… put your head in the water? To wash the soap off.”

He could sense Jaskier smiling dreamily before the other man even nodded his assent. He scooted down until all of his hair was submerged and… looked up at Geralt.

Oh. He was supposed to rinse it out for him. There was a distinct difference between Jaskier sitting with his back to Geralt as the witcher lathered his hair, and Jaskier looking at him with that beguiling, expectant smile, as Geralt smoothed his hair back from his face, or cupped his head.

It was too intimate. Geralt genuinely wanted to stand up and leave, but he wouldn’t. He’d (nonverbally) agreed to this; he wouldn’t walk out on Jaskier now. Not that it was such an important task, but- no, it was important. Jaskier couldn’t do it himself if he wanted to. He was dutifully keeping his bandaged hand from the damp, and Geralt needed to do this. For a variety of reasons.

He cradled the back of Jaskier’s head underwater and combed through the strands to get all the soap out. It became easier when Jaskier closed his eyes, not watching Geralt anymore. So he decided to indulge himself a little, stroking the bard’s short sideburns and the spots above his ears to be thorough. He wanted to run his fingers through the coarse hair on Jaskier’s chest as well, but knew that he wouldn’t have been able to justify it. And he feared reaching a point of no return.

When Jaskier sat up, it was languid and serene, as though he’d just awakened from a long rest. His eyes were still closed. “Thank you, Geralt,” he murmured.

Geralt toweled his hands dry with unnecessary aggression and went back to bed to polish his swords. “Hm.”

If he watched Jaskier bathe from afar the whole time- with the storm outside, and the bard safe and warm inside, safe with him- it was unintentional.

-

Jaskier was complaining again, about anything that dared exist in his line of sight. Geralt figured he was just in a mood and didn’t listen to much of it.

Then Jaskier tapped on his shoulder with a sad pout that was only half-exaggerated. “Can’t we stop in the next town to sleep? I also need my doublet stitched, so…”

“Your doublet can wait.”

“Hello? Did you not just hear what I said about sleeping? You know, a thing that people need.”

Geralt wanted to resist, push Jaskier a bit further, prove a point. “Alright. We’re about two hours out.” Fuck.

Jaskier chirped out a thanks and there was a little more pep in his step for the rest of the journey.

In the morning, Geralt woke up first, immediately going to ask the woman downstairs (who was allowing them to stay a night in her home’s spare room) if she had dark green thread he could use. She did, and he stayed in the kitchen with her, stitching up the ripped seams of Jaskier’s doublet over breakfast. Honestly, it was his favorite of the bard’s ensembles, given that it was a more understated color than the other garish clothing he wore. That was his excuse. The woman looked at him with a knowing expression every so often, and he didn’t reprimand her, already feeling too exposed. Defending himself would be suspicious.

Jaskier was thrilled when he woke up and found that his doublet had been competently mended. Geralt told him he had a seamstress do it, but he saw as they were leaving that the spool of green thread on the table had caught Jaskier’s eye. He must have known. They didn’t talk about it.

The good part was that Jaskier hadn’t caught onto his lovesick compliance. He asked the same favors he usually would and was pleasantly surprised every time Geralt agreed to share his blanket or found spices for the stews they shared. He never took advantage. There were some things Geralt just wouldn’t do, like letting Jaskier accompany him on the more dangerous hunts or allowing him to give unruly tavern-goers a piece of his mind, and Jaskier respected that as much as he usually did- which is to say, not at all.

But most times, Geralt would nod and follow along until Jaskier was done with him, and these days, the snark accompanying his obedience was minimal. It was easy to indulge him, and of course he loved it. He’d hug Geralt often, sometimes not even while he was doing the bard a favor.

After one such embrace, Geralt had a question that he assumed was safe, wouldn’t reveal too much. “What is this for? Is there nobody else who would bow to your inane wishes?” he asked. Jaskier continued resting his chin on Geralt’s shoulder, making it impossible to read his expression. To be fair, even with facial expressions, Geralt was hopeless at reading the mood.

He was quiet for a few seconds. “Nobody who would do it out of love.” He paused, huffing a rueful laugh that had Geralt prickling. Jaskier must have interpreted it as discomfort with the emotional territory. But it wasn’t; what discomforted him was that Jaskier thought… What was he thinking? Geralt had never been adept with facial expressions, and the change in his scent was far from conclusive. Did he think nobody loved him? Or that anyone else who tried to please him was doing it for more shallow reasons? “Well, maybe love is a strong word. I think you’re doing it because you like me. I hope you like me. So that’s new.” 

Geralt’s first instinct was to deny. Deny that it was out of love, deny that he liked Jaskier’s company at all. But that was a lie, one that would hurt Jaskier deeply. His next reflex was to spill his guts.  _ I certainly don’t like you because even love is not a strong enough word to describe this.  _ Of course, he couldn’t do that; his mouth would never let him. “Hm.” 

Thankfully, Jaskier understood and took it positively. 

When they were back on the road, the trip mostly quiet aside from Jaskier’s nature-inspired quips, Geralt decided to sincerely initiate conversation with the bard for what was possibly the first time ever. (He was an awful friend, he’d begun to realize.)

“Jaskier,” he started during one of the stretches of silence. He was on Roach, Jaskier following on foot at an unhurried pace.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to ask you. Something.”

“Something? Well, that’s a hook if I’ve ever heard one. Please ask, I’m hopelessly intrigued.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, fond and unseen, as he hadn’t turned towards Jaskier at all. Even if his face rarely betrayed him, he couldn’t be too careful. “When that ghoul attacked you, a fortnight ago… Why didn’t you call for help?”  _ For me?  _ is really what he wants to say, but doesn’t.

The sword was unfortunately double-sided for him: Jaskier couldn’t see him, but he couldn’t see Jaskier’s reactions either.

“Well, I didn’t want to distract you.” His tone was casual, an easy answer. Geralt’s heart sunk at the thought that Jaskier didn’t know he would have dropped everything to save him, but outwardly, his only response was to shift on Roach’s saddle, drawing himself upright and stiff. A few more steps as pebbles and sand crunched under Jaskier’s boots, then he continued. “And I know that you have all those Witcher senses, so you knew that I was in trouble. There was no doubt you’d come and help me. Yelling wouldn’t be much use, now would it? You might look away at the wrong time and get overpowered.” A pause. “Not that you couldn’t handle a few ghouls. Just… I think I handled it pretty well!”

“Hm.” Geralt tightened his grip on the reins, his eyes burning. Fuck. Jaskier didn’t call out because he already knew Geralt was coming, not because he thought he wouldn’t. That was too heady a thought for him to process at the moment. He swallowed heavily. “You were, uh, very brave.”

He heard Jaskier stumble on the trail, unsure if it was due to his words or a change in elevation. The change in his scent, however, was undoubtedly caused by the former. Like bitter almond oil and flowers. Geralt really needed to be anywhere but there, too overwhelmed by Jaskier’s awe. But he had nowhere to go. Instead he needed more. “Really?” Jaskier asked, shy and pleased. “I never-“

Gods, why couldn’t he stop? “With the dark, rain, and all that blood, it- you- you kept your composure.” Then Jaskier caught up and must have seen Geralt gritting his teeth, expression constipated, but it didn’t matter. In return, he saw the genuine, unadulterated delight on Jaskier’s face, and wouldn’t take it back to save his life.

-

After a fight with a persistent pair of werewolves, Geralt returned to their campsite late. He’d told Jaskier to smother the fire so as not to be discovered by anything else, but judging from the smell of woodsmoke, Geralt theorized that he hadn’t listened. To his credit, it was a cold night. Not freezing, but Geralt’s potion-laden breath looked like a great puff of smoke in front of him.

He stalked toward the scent, every gust of wind making him wince with sensitivity, until he could identify Jaskier’s presence as well. Good. He hadn’t been robbed or eaten while Geralt was gone.

His injuries were minor and healing quickly, but still Jaskier gave him a pat down to ensure his health, his movements comically stiff with the cold. Geralt put his swords away and pushed Jaskier’s shoulders down until he was sitting on his bedroll. He went willingly, even though his brow raised in curiosity as he sat. Geralt took his blanket as well, heading over to the pack slung over Roach’s back. She was evidently enjoying the cold, at least.

“Um, I was using that?”

He returned with one of his jackets, encouraging Jaskier to put it on, and when that was done, Geralt arranged a few more thin blankets around him in something resembling a nest.

“There wasn't enough insulation. Don’t move. I’m going to get dinner.” Jaskier nodded his agreement with an amused look.

Going hunting was actually a good idea on his part, since he got out some of the excess energy buzzing in him with the potions. He knew his eyes and skin weren’t yet back to normal, and wouldn’t be for a while. But it was the oversensitivity and pent-up  _ force  _ in him that was more concerning. Jaskier, as per usual, never stayed away from him, even knowing that the witcher could have been thinking about wringing his neck. They were only intrusive thoughts, but they bothered him more than any of the other side effects.

After having taken out much of it on two rabbits, he felt calm enough to return to camp. Jaskier looked up at him with fondness-  _ admiration _ , even- as he skinned the animals, growling deep in his throat. He chattered mindlessly as the rabbit cooked, giving Geralt some white noise aside from the throbbing in his veins.

“Geralt?” He finally spoke up when they were finished eating. The witcher’s skin was almost back to its usual hue.

“Hm?”

“Might I sit beside you? See, your skin gets warmer after fights, I’ve noticed.” He would usually just do it without asking, but he must have seen the mental and physical conflict Geralt’s potions put him in, as they often did. He was quite observant, for such an idiot.

“Yes, bard.”

Jaskier scooted around to where he was sitting and almost flung himself into Geralt’s side. The bard’s hair tickled at his shoulder, and he shared the mass of blankets with Geralt as if he were also cold. Geralt gently pushed them back, but it was futile, so he allowed Jaskier to drape one over his bare forearms and lap.

Jaskier sighed as if the contact between them was the highest of luxuries. “You take such good care of me,” he murmured.

“Hm.” Jaskier had no fucking clue what those words did to him. Geralt nearly began vibrating in place right there.  _ You take such good care of me _ . The pride was almost too much for him. He desperately wanted to keep Jaskier safe and comfortable. To just  _ keep him. _ That delighted floral scent returned at his side, and he wanted to cradle Jaskier’s head and nuzzle at his collar bone until he could be allowed to live there. 

He was convinced that he was going fucking crazy. But Jaskier’s steady heartbeat soothed him, and he was able to come back to himself before long.

They shared a bedroll, since Jaskier asked if they could, and Geralt made jerky with the leftover rabbit, because Jaskier wanted him to.

-

In the next week, they didn’t find much work aside from easy jobs that paid little, but Jaskier did find a noble in the Temerian Royal Council who simply wanted Geralt as pest control for wolves that congregated around his estate. He’d pay him for a week’s service, and offered boarding in the form of a hut usually reserved for the gardener. Since it was winter, they could stay unaccompanied. Geralt liked staying mobile, but for the payment and the lodging, he was impressed that Jaskier had struck up such a deal in the street.

And it was already a deal, since Geralt obviously had no say in the matter. 

Upon reaching the estate, a few servants gave their testimony as to where they saw the wolves and just how large and terrifying they were. As it happened, the reason there was no gardener was because he’d quit, not because of the season. Geralt was solemn in approaching them, but inside he laughed. If they all thought wolves were monsters that only he could kill, so be it. Neither he nor Jaskier pointed out that they could be killed or avoided in other ways.

Jaskier was smug the entire way to the stables, and then to the detached little cottage. He chose not to say anything for a change, probably for the  _ drama _ . The interior of their lodgings was to Geralt’s tastes, barren in the way of architecture and furniture, but he figured Jaskier would find it cozy anyway. There were two hearths, one in the small common room and one in the kitchen for stewing. No demarcation separated these rooms, but he was relieved to find a door between the parlor and the bedroom, at least. He’d never liked sleeping out in the open. Even out on the road, he tried to find tight circles of trees to camp within.

“This is nice,” Jaskier said mildly, which meant that he wasn’t impressed, but wouldn’t complain just yet. He hooked his doublet on a chair in the corner. “We’ll be warm.”

The pallet was large enough for two with the expectation that the gardener might have a wife, so they slept quite comfortably under the thin quilts.

The next morning, Geralt scoped out the area for possible dens while Jaskier enjoyed sleeping on a decent mattress for once. The witcher often wondered if he ever missed domestic comforts before promptly reminding himself that Jaskier had been traveling even before they met. He was used to life on the road, despite his grousing about it.

With none of the wolves coming out, he had nothing to do but eat and meditate until nightfall. Jaskier spent the day writing and plucking at his lute, figuring he might use the bucolic winter as inspiration. Geralt watched him whenever he turned away, didn’t respond to the bard’s requests for feedback on his lyrics aside from a grunt at each line. Then he set off on foot at twilight.

The fight between him and the few wolves who manifested seemed to be over in a flash, so straightforward that he wondered why a nobleman wouldn’t do it himself. Perhaps it was a matter of time. Or laziness. 

He returned to the hut within two hours, and Jaskier was curled up on the quaint settee by the fire. When he turned to find Geralt in the doorway, his entire demeanor lifted. As if pinned by the affectionate gaze, Geralt was frozen where he stood.

“Well, close the door then! Do you want me to catch a chill?” He shut the door and locked it behind him. 

Joining him by the fireplace, Geralt bowed ever so slightly before rolling his eyes. “Of course, your highness.” Jaskier eyed him, and a slow, coy smile formed on his face that made Geralt’s body go numb. He tried not to think about it any harder than was necessary, settling next to Jaskier and eventually following him to bed.

The night after, it became obvious to him that although the wolves were in fact the castle’s main threat, that wasn’t all. The chambermaid’s description of a bipedal silhouette that she swore wasn’t a wolf seemed more likely than not as he traversed the grounds further and found a few drowners by the lake that bordered the property. From the sheer size of the lake, Geralt figured there had to be more that simply weren’t showing themselves, but he took care of the two in front of him for the moment. The fight was relatively easy, but messy, and he took one of their heads back for the nobleman’s inspection. But he couldn’t drag mud across his home, so he stopped at the hut to unload his armor and change into something less offensive, although he still felt a thin sheen of grit over much of his body. Jaskier had fallen asleep in his seat, mouth hanging open, a sight that made Geralt snort before he carefully shut the door behind him.

In the mansion, their host was full of gratitude for the discovery and offered more pay for the drowners, as well as any others Geralt found in the future. It was a nice change from the usual aristocrats who could be stingy and pretentious when needing a witcher’s services. A young maid walked back with him to fill a tub so he could clean up, and he tried to be as gracious as possible. He already predicted that some of them might be repeat customers with their own jobs for him.

When the tub was set down inside, he quickly noticed that Jaskier had awoken, now standing in the kitchen with Geralt’s filthy armor in hand. 

“Didn’t get dragged through the mud by wolves, did you?” he asked mildly, sleeves rolled up as he worked on cleaning the chest piece.

“No. Drowners by the lake. There are more where those came from.”

“Ooh, fun. A little something more to entertain you than feral animals. He’s paying you for the extra service, yes?”

“Yes.” He nodded his approval, and Geralt stood there watching him even when they both fell silent (well, he went silent, Jaskier was singing to himself while he worked). Watching his shoulder blades shift under the chemise he had on, watching him bend to inspect the leather more closely.

He didn’t start undressing until Jaskier looked back, most likely just to see if Geralt was alright. 

He cleared his throat, unlacing his breeches. “You were asleep earlier.”

“Took an inspirational nap. You know how it is. Artistic process and all that.” 

“Hm.” Geralt couldn’t bear it. He loved Jaskier so much, it made his chest ache. 

When he was finally undressed and sinking into the warm bath, he took the opportunity to stare at Jaskier a little more. A lot more. For the entire time he stayed in the tub. Jaskier didn’t offer any salts or oils this time, but he was busy doing something else for Geralt’s benefit, so it wasn’t anything to cry over. He rushed to join Jaskier in the kitchen after he dried off and put on his clothes, partially to get warm next to the kitchen hearth and partially to get closer to the bard. Meanwhile, Jaskier toiled at the small studs on his shoulder pads, polishing them furiously.

“There! All done. You can’t say I’ve never done anything for you now.” He sounded so proud of himself; if he only knew that he didn’t have to do anything for Geralt to keep him around.

“Thank you, Jaskier.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said with a grin, finally looking over at the witcher beside him. “What is it? Is there a spider in my hair?” He self-consciously swept a hand through his bangs and then wiped his cheeks to see if there was anything smudged there. Geralt grabbed his wrist then to pull it away from his face, eyes still focused on him.

“Jaskier.”

“Geralt,” he laughed, a little nervously, but he allowed Geralt to turn him until he was sandwiched between his friend and the counter. He took both of Jaskier’s hands in his, bringing them to his lips and relishing the small intake of breath it elicited. Kissing his knuckles before releasing his hold on them, then splaying his own hands over Jaskier’s waist and shoulder. Fuck. He was so warm and sweet in Geralt’s arms, his eyes curious and his scent heady.

“Do you know how hard it is to be around you?” Geralt asked in a low tone, having no idea where it was coming from. He should have been panicking, but the moment seemed right. Jaskier stayed blissfully still and seemed unoffended by the question, his lips pursing with interest. “I would do nearly anything for you. Do you know that?” His eyes widened. “That I want you all to myself?” He couldn’t stop.

Jaskier’s chest heaved lightly with each breath, his face going red. That smell of bitter almond spiked to something warmer. While looking him up and down, it took Geralt a second to realize that Jaskier was speaking to him. “You have me,” he repeated softly. “You already have me.”

And what could he say to that? Geralt felt his nostrils flaring, and he dipped down close to press his nose to the line of Jaskier’s throat. Having him so close was like being drugged. With wild eyes, he shoved his armor to the side and hoisted Jaskier up onto the counter. Jaskier let out a soft gasp right next to his ear.

He remained surprisingly quiet aside from that one noise, holding the witcher close by the back of his neck. It was silent encouragement to do what he needed. The thought almost made Geralt shudder. Instead, he nuzzled closer before pulling away- only to lean back in for a wet kiss. He felt Jaskier’s hands on his jaw, thumbing at his cheek, and he covered them with his own.

“Tell me what you want.”  _ I’ll give you anything,  _ went unsaid.

Jaskier met his eye, searching. He must have found what he was looking for because he hauled Geralt back in for a deeper kiss that left both of them breathless. “Fuck, Geralt. Take me to bed, please.”

It physically pained him to pull far enough away for Jaskier to hop down off the counter, but grasping his hand as the bard led him to the bedroom made it more bearable. 

As soon as they passed the threshold, Jaskier was tearing at his clothes, and Geralt obliged him by stripping to his breeches. Then he worked on Jaskier’s more finely-made garments. He could feel the other man smiling against his shoulder as he undid all the laces and buttons with a comparatively delicate touch. “Do whatever you want with me. That’s what I want.” Geralt slotted their bodies together, both of them still in their pants (although Jaskier’s hung loose at his hips), and rumbled low in his throat. “And do that.”

“Do what?”

Jaskier gave him a teasing smile that bordered on shy. “Make those noises.” Geralt pulled back, raised a brow. “You sound… happy,” the bard clarified. “I like it because I know you’re happy.” How awful it was that such softly spoken words could make Geralt tremble.

Still he conceded. He noted that it pleased Jaskier to hear he was content, then led him over to the pallet they shared. He dropped back onto it as if it were the finest bed he’d ever laid in, despite being no more than a thin goose feather mattress. Geralt followed, tugging Jaskier’s fine brocade pants off the rest of the way as they both situated themselves. He couldn’t resist tugging Jaskier closer by his thighs, which elicited a yelp and a grin from the man. Thankfully, he didn’t seem nervous, although as Geralt thought more on it, why would he be? Jaskier was just as experienced as he was- probably more than that.

He ducked to kiss his way down Jaskier’s chest, all the way until he was nosing at the thinner trail of hair below his navel, and then diverging from the course to nip at the juncture of Jaskier’s groin, before repeating this on the meat of his thigh. It was only hard enough to tickle, and Jaskier squirmed underneath him as Geralt buried his face in the long expanse of skin now free for him to enjoy. His hands wrapped around Jaskier’s biceps to keep him steady, and he thoroughly enjoyed the feel of relaxed muscle under his palms (although the bard flexed them a few times, the show off; Geralt rolled his eyes and rumbled his approval).

Jaskier sighed, somewhere between exasperation and relief. “I wanted to be awake when you came back,” he said, eyes closing as he reached down to caress Geralt’s jaw. “And then I found your armor like that. Knew you’d come back to wash up. I was even going to make- oh, uh- make dinner.” His voice wavered when Geralt moved back up to nuzzle the base of his cock. “I’ll make breakfast instead,” he said breathily when Geralt let his lips trace the underside. Finally he let his hand come to rest on the back of Geralt’s head, gathering up his hair in a loose bunch as the witcher sunk down on him. “Gods almighty.” His voice went higher toward the end, then into a squeak when Geralt’s nose touched his stomach. He looked down, meeting darkened amber eyes for a second before throwing his head back onto the cushions with a moan. “Geralt,  _ please _ .” He must have washed up earlier in the day while Geralt was gone, because his skin was silky and smelled more of soap than anything else, but the scent that lay under was still distinguishable, like sweat and jasmine flowers.

He grunted against the bard’s skin. Geralt would take care of him, would finally get to show him how earnestly he was wanted. Jaskier whimpered and huffed as the witcher drew off, sucking lightly at the head. His hands moved to bracket Jaskier’s hips, stroking as if he were gentling a horse, but Jaskier needed no soothing. He only flexed into the touch with a soft noise, careful not to push into Geralt’s mouth even though he must have known that it would be received positively if he did. They met eyes again, and Geralt gestured to indicate his permission, but Jaskier shook his head. He didn’t want to.

It was better than he could have possibly expected- Jaskier trusting him to his body and his pleasure. He could have shaken apart right then with Jaskier on his tongue if it weren’t for the task at hand. Geralt went back to work then; he situated the bard’s legs over his shoulders before eagerly taking him back down. The quiver in Jaskier’s lower stomach told him that he was close as his thighs tensed around Geralt’s ears. He only dug his heels in and sucked hard. Jaskier didn’t protest, didn’t direct aside from his fingers flexing in Geralt’s hair and the slew of noises that poured out of his mouth endlessly, letting him know he was doing a fine job. 

Jaskier gave a few aborted thrusts like he couldn’t help it, which had Geralt growling and holding him in place (if only because Jaskier loved it- his eyes going glassy when he saw the firm hold Geralt had on him.) The sounds only grew in volume, and Jaskier’s long fingers only tightened their grip, until he spilled on Geralt’s tongue with a high, reedy moan. 

He came down slow, trembling under Geralt as the feeling coursed through him. Gods, he was beautiful. Humming in satisfaction, Geralt cleaned and nuzzled at Jaskier’s softening cock with his tongue, unable to pull away.

“Ugh, you’re insatiable. Come up here.”

Unable to pull away until Jaskier told him to, he corrected silently.

He crawled up the bard’s side and awaited further instruction, brows furrowing in confusion when Jaskier pulled a nearly empty vial of oil out of his bag, draped over the nightstand. He tugged at the laces of Geralt’s still-present breeches, his flushed face full of something like amusement. He couldn’t still want Geralt to fuck him, could he? There wasn’t enough oil left for that anyhow, which he was about to point out when Jaskier poured it over his palm and wrapped his fingers around Geralt’s cock, slicking it effectively so his movements were smooth. 

He grunted his release after only a few strokes, probably the fastest he'd ever come in his life. At least when he looked up, Jaskier’s expression was one of complete bliss, not mocking by any stretch of the imagination. He blinked up at Geralt slowly and wiped his hand dry on the edge of the quilt, his blue eyes sparkling.

“I’ve wanted to do that for some time,” he admitted as Geralt settled next to him, bumping his head against Jaskier’s open hand until he began to stroke the witcher’s hair again. “I don’t know how long! Worth every moment waiting. I hope you feel the same, but perhaps it would take another try to get a reliable judgment. Tomorrow night then. Anyhow. What inspired you tonight, pray tell?”

Of course he was already scheduling sex for the next night. Geralt shrugged. “You.” Despite Jaskier’s relaxed demeanor, his heart rate sped up then. “Just… wanted you.”

He could feel Jaskier’s cheek grow warm against his forehead. “That’s… yes, well. You can have me to yourself now. Yes, yes, growl all you want; I’m flattered.” He pet Geralt’s jaw clumsily. “Sleep now. You’ll need energy to fight the other drowners and fuck me all in the same night.” Geralt snorted, but obeyed all the same, nuzzling Jaskier until he hummed with understanding and dipped down for a slow kiss. “There. Rest.”

He closed his eyes with a grunt and felt Jaskier’s lips against his eyelids. “You rest too,” he said, feeling strangely vulnerable where he lay next to his bard.

Jaskier smiled against his skin, simple and right as anything, and curled into his arms. “I’m right behind you, dear.”

**Author's Note:**

> conveniently easy-to-beat monsters are convenient
> 
> conveniently isolated cottage is also convenient
> 
> pls interact with me on twitter at @renfri_rights for more mediocre thoughts on netflix's the witcher
> 
> thanks for reading, leaving kudos, commenting, etc. etc.


End file.
